He’s stoic, emotionally unavailable and vaguely contemptuous of all that is undignified. He reads the papers to me in the morning, and without a word of criticism, his disappointment in the state of journalism is communicated. One look from him and I, too, want to live up to his exacting moral standards. His hair never moves. And in the midst of all this, he manages to exude, just below his always neck-tied collar, a sexiness. The kind of freaky you never see, but can imagine in volume. But best of all, today, I discovered he’s hosting VH1’s World Series of Pop Culture.